


The Death of Daredevil

by paradiamond



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Foggy POV, M/M, Married Life, mention of past canonical cancer and some comic deaths that happen, mostly fun, no one actually dies, retired Matt, still lawyers MattFoggy, they would have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for that meddling cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: Foggy and Matt, now long retired from vigilantism, live their lives together; avocados at law, middle aged, married and settled. But in the wake of a recent success, they attract the interest of the public, and one particularly curious cop. When Matt accidentally reveals too much in a split second lapse, it becomes clear they have to kill Daredevil for good.*“Out of curiosity, what’s the statute of limitations for vigilantism?” Foggy asked when they got home, even though he already knew. He stripped off his coat and dropped it on the couch. “We should probably know this, you know, all things considered.”“It’ll be fine Foggy,” Matt said, but immediately went into the kitchen and pulled out a beer. Not exactly a sign of confidence.Foggy sat down on the armrest. “No, I know, I was talking about the tell-all book you’re eventually going to write that’s going to allow us to retire to a nice island somewhere.”





	The Death of Daredevil

**Author's Note:**

> Retired Matt fic! Something I dearly love, the what's next? For Matt and Foggy, lawyering, physical therapy, and sleeping in. Also, having to sneak around and dispose of evidence and hide from cops because actions have consequences, Matthew. 
> 
> Also, fun fact, I hate The Hand. I think it's dumb and not fitting for the show. So, no Defenders except for the fact that they exist and fight like, normal crime. No magical ninjas and pure evil organizations, except to the extent that they expose the fact that this does not exist.

The Friday morning sun crawled into their room gradually, creeping up to where they were curled up together in bed. 

As it hit his face, Foggy blinked and focused, noticing Matt just where he’d been before, caught up in the circle of Foggy’s arms. Foggy smirked, still blinking in the sun that never bothered Matt. Lazing around was something Matt had always loved, and Foggy couldn’t help but like that he got to do it even more now that he’s retired. 

He denied it, of course, claiming that they cuddled all the time when he was still running around every other night as Daredevil, but in Foggy’s opinion it didn’t count since Matt was always so tired that cuddling turned into sleeping right away almost every time. Foggy adjusted his grip on Matt’s hip, smiling at the give under his hand. 

Matt craned his head back slightly, apparently awake, but his voice was thick with sleep still. “What is it?” 

“Nothing, just who knew that I would one day have the pleasure of holding a slightly squishy Matt?” 

Matt scoffed and turned his head away. “I still work out.” 

“Physical therapy, and it’s not like you really need it, I’m just saying. You’re a little softer and I like it.” 

Matt grumbled some more so Foggy pinched his side, which really was squishier than before. Matt wasn’t a human statue anymore, more like a regular person. He matched Foggy so much better now. 

“Hush up,” Foggy said, wiggling closer. “I’m the fat one anyway.”

Matt snorted. “You’re not fat.”

Foggy pressed his face into the back of Matt’s neck. “Well not anymore, almost dying of cancer will do that to a person. Worst diet ever.”

Matt whined, kind of like a dog, and rolled over in Foggy’s arms so that they were face to face. He slung an arm around Foggy’s back and tugged him close. “Almost being the operative word.” 

“True,” Foggy whispered, leaning closer to briefly press his lips to Matt’s, who deepened it, leaning over to press Foggy down with his weight. Foggy hummed and pushed back up against him, running his hand along Matt’s side with no real intention of going any further. 

It used to be that once they started something, they had to finish it, the fire burning too strongly to let them pull away, especially in Matt. Now, they can kiss and touch and then let go, not being thirty anymore. It took more than that to get them really riled up. 

Proving his mental point, Matt leaned back, and ran his tongue along Foggy’s bottom lip before pulling away altogether. “Good morning.” 

“Morning. Or it is afternoon?” 

Matt smirked and shook his head. “It’s only eleven.” 

“Fall asleep wearing your watch again?” 

“Maybe.” Matt leaned down and pressed his face into Foggy’s neck, something he had started doing more and more after Foggy got his diagnosis, and never really stopped. Foggy ran his hand through Matt’s shortly cropped hair and then gently pushed him up by the shoulder. 

“You still want to visit Karen today?” 

“Mm, yes. Then the office.” Matt sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side, but then stayed there when his knee made an ominous cracking sound. Foggy winced in sympathy. 

“Bad day?” 

“Not the best day,” Matt said airily, and then hauled himself up anyway. 

Foggy watched him move around their bedroom through slitted eyes, feeling another pang of sympathy when he almost lost his balance. As it turned out, vigilante superheroes had about the same shelf life as poorly cared for professional athletes. There was only so much punishment the human body could take before it started to shut down, even in its prime. Now that they were both almost fifty, Matt used his cane for support daily, his left knee beyond repair and his right not far behind. 

Foggy got himself up and set about making breakfast so Matt could have something good. Especially since they were visiting Karen. There were lots of graves to visit nowadays, but hers was always the hardest. 

They eat in the easy silence that Foggy had grown to love. He used to struggle with the quiet, always trying to fill it up with something, but now he didn’t have to. They move around each other in perfect tandem, the familiarity of it unnoticeable unless he focused. On their way out, Matt handed him the keys without asking, the pass practiced and smooth. It lit up Foggy’s life the way voracious learning used to, those little assumptions and daily touches. 

“We probably don’t need to go to the office today, you know,” Foggy said, locking the door. “Not after our big finish.” 

Matt hummed. “I’d rather got the paperwork done now instead of waiting until Monday.” 

“The price of being this good. Mountains of paperwork.” 

“Always,” Matt smirked, following Foggy down the stairs. 

They walked by where Josie’s used to be on the way to the cemetery. It was a sneaker store now, all shiny and kind of ridiculous. Josie lived up in Oregon with her daughter and refused to take any calls. Foggy smiled at it when they passed, Matt’s hand resting in his arm, and wondered if the teenagers who worked there wondered why he always did if he never went in. 

The cemetery itself was silent, though Foggy could see at least three other people despite the weird hour. They made their way to Karen’s gravestone, which was pretty nice as gravestones go, but Foggy had always hated it. There was a big carving of a rose in the dead center. Her name curved around it, and the dates of her life curl up from underneath. Her mom, whom Foggy had met exactly once and didn’t care to do so again, had insisted on the design. Foggy probably wouldn't have cared as much if he didn't know that Karen would have absolutely loathed it, that she would have complained about it to him under the cover of her hand as the priest droned on if she could. Foggy smiled and reached down to brush the leaves off. 

Matt was usually quiet, but Foggy liked to talk to Karen when they came. “The new secretary is terrible by the way, you would be horrified. He’s really dumb.” 

“Bobby isn’t that dumb, Foggy, he’s just young.”

“No, he is. This is what I get for hiring my cousin’s kid. I shoulda’ known nepotism never works out for anyone.” Foggy shook his head and bent down again to wipe the dirt and dust out of the lettering, which was his job. Matt brought the gifts. 

“I'm going to go get a coffee,” Foggy announced as he straightened up, wincing at the shock of pain in his shoulder, a fun leftover from the Frank Castle days. “Meet you at the office.” 

Matt nodded, and Foggy left without a fuss, his mind already on other things. Both of them had given up on the pretense years ago. The darkness, or the devil as Matt called it, didn’t bother him so much anymore, but Matt just needed to be alone sometimes. 

***

The office was a flurry of activity despite being devoid of clients, in part because Bobby really was the worst secretary ever but also because they really needed two now. 

“Hey kid,” Foggy called out as he walked through the door, and Bobby’s head snapped up. Literally. Foggy heard something crack. 

“Hi unc- boss,” Bobby corrected, rather ungracefully, earning him a sidelong glance from the lady that cleaned all the kitchens in the building. 

Foggy nodded to her and then looked back. “Things going alright?” 

Bobby blinked. “Yeah. Good.” 

It was so clearly a lie Foggy felt bad for him. A quick glance around his desk space revealed a suspicious amount of paper in the trash and several ink cartridges for the printer on the desk. He nodded again and pointed to his office. “I’ll be-” 

Bobby nodded vigorously. “Yeah. I’ll send in your first when they get here. Also Jessica is in jail again, she called this morning.” 

“Great!” Foggy called over his shoulder, already in the office. 

He shook his head, sitting himself down in his new fancy office chair. The old one had been not only old but also blood stained. Which came with the territory of defending Defenders. The newness and niceness of the chair came with being good at it, not to mention coming off the tail of a major victory. 

He pulled out his phone, hesitating only for a moment before deciding to text Matt after all. He might still be at the cemetery, but he would have his phone off until he was ready to go. _Jess in jail, should probably retire but we know she won’t._ Foggy smirked to himself and hit send. 

The need for Jessica to retire was different than it was for Matt, since the physical never really became a problem for her thanks to whatever had been done to her in the first place. Her hair was shot through with a bit of grey, and the frown lines had moved in to stay, and of course she’d long embraced old lady inspired meanness, but her joints were still all in one piece and likely meant to stay that way. Still, even she had to have limits. Her health would fail even if her strength didn’t. It was a point of contention between her and Matt that Foggy expected to remain funny right up until the moment she got herself killed pushing it too far. 

Ten minutes later, Foggy’s phone buzzed. He glanced down and absently tapped in the blind assist open pattern, a necessity if one was both sometimes too lazy to get the phone and had a blind boyfriend. **Was it about the Hand.**

Foggy frowned, then leaned forward. “Hey, Bobby?” 

“Yeah?” Bobby yelled back, probably still from his desk. 

Foggy waited, but after a while it became clear that Bobby just wasn’t going to get up. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Ok. Did Jessica say why she was arrested? Was it about the Hand case?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Because she said it wasn’t or-” 

“She said it was a drunk in public thing.” 

“Again? Jesus.” 

“Yeah I think she and Cage broke up. Also again.”

“They’re bored. No more Hand,” Foggy said, texting at the same time. _No, just her usual._

He set the phone down and turned back to his desk, intent on focusing for longer than ten minutes before Bobby yelled back with another issue. He fired off a call to the jail for Jessica’s release, the drill so old at this point Foggy didn’t need to bother going down there himself. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so convenient. Satisfied, he opened up his email, unsurprised to see the long list of media requests to speak about their case against the Hand. 

Foggy chewed his lip absently, not really considering taking any of them, but mentally running through the press briefing he had given after the last round of the trials. Him under the uncomfortable lights with Matt standing off the side, gripping his cane and ‘listening for snipers.’ Awkward, but at least no one got shot that day. Which was pretty much the theme of the whole case. 

When the Hand returned for the last time, Matt had been retired for a while. Years. But then all of a sudden, ninjas stalked the streets, creepy messages abounded, the whole deal. It was with a complete lack of surprise that Foggy learned that he wanted to go back in one more time. 

Foggy had shaken his head extra vigorously, sitting on the trunk that contained Matt’s suit as though he could actually stop him from getting to it, arms crossed. “Uh, no Matt. Let’s not do that.”

Matt had frowned down at him, hands on his hips. One of which was questionable on a good day, let alone in a fight against ninjas. There was just no way. “Foggy…” 

“No. It’s a hard no. You’re not thirty four anymore, and you will die.” 

Matt ground his teeth together and stormed out, slamming the door to the roof so hard it rattled in the frame. Foggy stayed where he was, waiting out the tantrum until Matt came back, knowing full well that Matt could hear him doing it. All things considered, it didn’t take long. 

“Alright,” Matt said, a little stiffly. “I take your point. I’m old.” 

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Please have that crisis after we deal with this the old fashioned way and lawyer the shit out of it.”

The barest smile cracked Matt’s ‘woe is me’ face. “Alright. What if- we can do what I actually set out to do the first time with Electra,” he said, pacing. “We can proves that Nobu, the whole _Hand_ , is a cult. It’s not real. It can’t be.” 

“Even if it is, it doesn’t matter.” Foggy nodded and stood up, his joints a little stiff but not bad enough to stop them from knocking on doors for ancient files and going through pots of coffee like water in a desert. He wrapped his arm around Matt’s shoulders. “You got that right buddy.”

Matt scoffed but leaned into the touch. “I can’t believe you said ‘lawyer the shit of out it.’”

“Because that’s what we’re going to do!” 

Foggy smiled to himself, drumming his fingers against his desk. Ultimately, they were successful. All in all, he could take it as a win. Not like the horror that was their last stand against Fisk, almost six years ago, in which Matt was shot and Karen _died_. The Hand felt like nothing after that absolute nightmare. It was mysticism and nonsense, but it had a lot of resources. A cult. 

Older than most countries, just like Electra said, but that meant quite the paper trail. Between them and Jessica they got it done. But in the process of said lawyering, they might have revealed a little too much about Matt and his senses in front of some questionable people. 

Between some less than careful demonstrations of abilities he shouldn’t have and Matt’s possession of a weird degree of Hand related knowledge, all it would take would be the right person paying attention at the wrong moment. Foggy chewed at the inside of his mouth, clicking through the emails and worrying that given all the information at once, someone could figure out that Matt was Daredevil. 

In general, Matt didn’t seem that concerned. The last time Foggy brought it up, he waved a hand over his shoulder, the other one being preoccupied with flipping pancakes. “The real question is, even if they get curious, can they prove it? No.”

Foggy had shrugged back, but didn’t respond, thinking of too quick reflexes, of reading regular print with his finger tips in front of a slew of narrow eyed secretaries. Matt didn’t bother hiding his senses as much now that he was retired and getting older, but with the Hand case and the media poking around, it made Foggy nervous. All they needed now was for the police to get interested. 

Foggy shook his head at himself and stood up to get coffee. He passed Bobby on the way, who got suspiciously quiet, but didn’t bother to look to see what he’d done. Coffee was more important. When he got back to his chair with his liquid gold, he has a missed call from Matt. He called back with one hand, the other busy rifling through prospective client docs. 

“Hey Matt, what’s up?” 

There was a beat of silence before Matt spoke. “Hey.” 

Foggy sat up straight. “What happened.” 

More silence. “...I did something.” 

Foggy was already up and out of the chair. “Hold on, I’m coming.” 

***

Essentially, Matt was spotted pushing someone out of the way of a car. 

As a behavior it was, in and of itself, obviously not bad. Foggy would probably be more upset if Matt called to tell him that he noticed someone was about to be hit by a car, knew he could stop it, and then didn’t. Not to mention what that would do to Catholic Matt. So all in all, it was the only thing that really could have happened. 

The fact that it was right though, does not mean that it wasn’t _complicated_.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t really a red flag, not yet, but Foggy still hauled ass to the station, running through scenarios and pros and cons as he went. There were a few lucky things about the situation, like the fact that Matt was not technically under arrest, because he didn’t do anything wrong. They were really only in the station because the accident happened right outside the station, where Matt was getting some files. He was a known quantity there, a defense attorney sure, but a decent guy. He was also being as cooperative as possible. 

“I honestly don’t know, I just reacted,” Matt said to a cop, for what sounded like the hundredth time when Foggy walked in. Thankfully, Matt did not turn, back to the basics of his life long oscar worthy performance. 

Foggy slapped on a passable expression and joined the party, all concern and disbelief. 

Most of the people were too preoccupied with being amazed to be suspicious, which was good. Crazy things happen everyday, especially in their city. Foggy smiled a lot and clapped Matt on the back. The guy who almost got hit had been carted off the hospital already, and most of the press attention had gone with him. Matt had ensconced himself in the station as soon as he physically could, but there would still be pictures. Not ideal, but not really the end of the world. 

Still, lucky for them, Matt had done it before, Foggy mused, watching from the back of the room again. After all it was how he lost his sight, so wasn’t like, strictly weird that he might try to do it again. What was weird was the success. 

One cop in particular was looking at Matt a little too closely for Foggy’s comfort, so of course he was the one who did the interview. Foggy watched him watch Matt, the calculation in his eyes a little nerve wracking. They had settled in a kitchen area and not a proper interview room, which was good, and Foggy was allowed to come, which was better. But still. Foggy tried to divorce himself from the situation, to see Matt objectively, like a client. 

There weren’t too many scars visible when he was in his work clothes, but his hands and face hadn’t escaped nearly a decade of vigilantism totally unscathed. Blind, though. Clumsy. And he had lies for every mark all prepared and ready to go. Foggy leaned against the wall, visibly relaxed. 

So,” the cop said, like it was its own sentence. He was also doing a stare down thing that Matt obviously couldn’t see. “You saved an old man from getting hit by a car when you were ten?” 

Matt nodded, hands wrapped around his cane, the picture of civil obedience. Just trying to help, nothing to see here. “That’s correct.”

“That’s great. And then you did it again at what? Forty nine and blind? Wow.”

Foggy had been around enough cops to know the difference between a cop being genuine and probing for information. Lucky for them, so had Matt. 

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I know, it was reckless, but I didn’t think about it. I heard him yell, heard the tires. I just reacted. It’s a miracle I grabbed him the right place,” Matt said, lowering his voice, and then crossed himself. 

Foggy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. The cop’s face didn’t help. Lifetime atheist might as well have been written on his forehead for the look in his eyes. 

“A miracle.”

“That’s right,” Matt smiled encouragingly. 

“Never done something else like that between the first time and now?”

Matt cocked his head to the side. “Like what?” 

They were free to go. 

Of course they stuck around a little longer, not wanting to seem suspicious by running away. Someone produced a cake that Foggy was pretty sure came from some cop’s birthday. Matt’s smile only faltered a little though, so he figured it was safe to eat. They nodded and smiled and then they dodged reporters and slipped out the back. 

“It’ll just be a few days of staying out of sight, the press has an abnormally short attention span,” Matt said as they slide out of the cab in front of their place, apparently playing the role of ‘ridiculously optimistic’ now. 

Foggy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and kept walking, amusement and worry doing a familiar dance in his stomach. It was almost nostalgic. 

***

“Out of curiosity, what’s the statute of limitations for vigilantism?” Foggy asked when they got home. He stripped off his coat and dropped it on the couch. “We should probably know this, you know, all things considered.”

“It’ll be fine Foggy,” Matt said, but immediately went into the kitchen and pulled out a beer. Not exactly a sign of confidence. 

Foggy sat down on the armrest. “No, I know, I was talking about the tell-all book you’re eventually going to write that’s going to allow us to retire to a nice island somewhere.” 

Matt shook his head and opened the beer. “Or an apartment in New York with more than three rooms in it.” 

Foggy whistled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves there, you weren’t that famous.”

For a brief moment, Matt looked a little offended, but then he grinned. “You're probably right, we should talk about a contingency plan.” 

“Well I was thinking more in the line of a check up, but if you want to pack a go-bag we can do that too.” 

Matt shrugged and walked over to the couch. “A go-bag is never a bad thing.” 

“That's true.” Foggy jumped up and picked up a legal pad and a pen from their table. “But, ok, first of all who knows about the red guy that’s still alive to tell?” 

Matt smirked and sat down. “You.”

Foggy threw the pen at his head that Matt dodged easily. “Be serious please,” he said and settled down next to him.

“Ok, I’m pretty sure that Melvin Potter knows. Or he could figure it out.”

Foggy hummed and wrote it down with the spare pen from his pocket. “But you think he’s very solid.”

“Yeah, he won’t say anything.”

“Ok, good.” 

Matt leaned back, rolling the bottle back and forth along his fingers. “I still don’t think Fisk or his people knew, or they would have come after us, so they couldn't have told anyone. Father Lantom definitely knows, but he’s in Kenya again.”

“Really? Doesn’t that guy ever slow down?”

Matt smiled. “Apparently not. He’s a priest anyway, so he can’t say anything.”

Foggy dutifully wrote it down. “Thank you, Jesus.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Then there’s Brett, who has never said anything but has probably put it together at this point.”

“And Jessica.” 

Matt shook his head. “She doesn’t know.”

“She does, we talked about it last year when I bailed her out of prison.”

Matt frowned at him. “Great.” 

“Yeah. That's what we get for getting involved with a detective. She’s a steel trap though, they won’t get anything out of her. What about Claire Temple?”

“Married and living in Florida.”

Foggy bobbed his head. “Check. Anyone else?”

“Frank Castle, probably.” 

“I said alive,” Foggy teased. 

Matt snorted. “I’m sure Frank’s alive, we just haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I still say he’s working for the government.”

“Either way, he knows.”

Foggy tapped the pen against the pad, thinking. “That could be bad, but he doesn’t exactly have a strong relationship with law enforcement. Are you sure he knows?”

Matt made a face. “Yes. He recognized me in court.”

“Ah right, the first and last major trial of Nelson and Murdock 1.0, what a nightmare that was.”

“Was it?”

Foggy threw the whole notebook this time. “Not funny, not even now, jerk,” he said, going for stern, but it was hard to maintain when he was laughing. 

“I know, sorry. I think that’s it though.” Matt ran a hand through his hair, which was greying slightly at the temples. Really it only made him look distinguished, more handsome, while Foggy still had the same dishwater blond, only shorter since the chemo ended. Some things never change. 

Foggy scooted closer, pressing them together from ankle to shoulder. Matt leaned in obligingly, warm and solid. 

“Ok, I think we’re pretty safe on that front there, I don’t see any major risks. Except…”

Matt pulled away and frowned. “What?” 

“I'm giving you a pointed look. Now I'm looking at the closet.” 

“Oh,” Matt said, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “Well that’s a little extreme, don't you think?” 

“Do I think it's extreme to want to get rid of your Daredevil suit, the one you don't use anymore, to protect you from getting in massive trouble?” 

Matt didn’t say anything. 

“Yeah.” Foggy stood up and ran his hand through Matt’s hair again. Matt turned his head into the touch instinctively. Foggy ruffled his hair to make him laugh, but he didn’t. Usually, with this sort of thing, Foggy would let it go. But Matt wouldn't make it in prison, not then and certainly not now, and Foggy doesn’t want to make it without him. 

“Think it over.” 

***

It took a few days of sullen silences and staring off into space for Matt to come around to the idea. Foggy had been studiously ignoring the little voice inside him that said the curious cop could be gathering the evidence he needed to get a search warrant when Matt came down from the roof with a grim but determined look on his face. He was soaking wet, because it was raining and he was somehow even more ridiculous than he used to be, but he seemed ready. Foggy closed his laptop with a snap and waited. 

“Ok.” 

“Ok?” 

“Yeah.” Matt crossed his arms. “It’s the smart thing to do, so let’s do it.” 

Foggy jumped up to go tip the trunk onto the bed for inspection. Matt chuckled and followed him in, which was good because Foggy needed help lifting it. “It’s not me, I’m not weak. It’s the cancer.” 

“You can’t just blame everything on-” 

“Um, yes I can play the cancer card. It’s the only prize you get for having cancer!” Foggy yelled, hyping it up for Matt’s benefit. It worked, prompting a small smile from Matt until they actually get the whole suit spread out on the bed. Then Matt frowned down at it, reaching over to stroke his fingers along the horns of the mask. 

Foggy nodded, determined to get them through it the way he always has. “Hmm, how does one properly dispose of a virtually indestructible suit of armor that kind of looks like something you would find in an S and M dungeon?” 

Matt rolled his eyes. “Foggy.” 

“Hey I said kind of. A tasteful dungeon. For businessmen and very adventurous socialites.” 

That got a laugh, thankfully, but then they both drift into a contemplative silence. For Foggy, it was mostly about Matt, which is probably what it was about for Matt too. He stared at the suit and thought about finding Matt on the rooftop and dragging him back to his apartment in it, which was really reason number one why they should get rid of it in the first place. Nothing said double conviction like ‘we have evidence linking Foggy Nelson to Daredevil, who we now know is his husband, Matt Murdock.’ 

Still, more had stayed the same than had changed, Foggy thought to himself as he drew his fingers along the breastplate, absently and then with more consideration. “What’s this made of?” 

Matt hummed, still lost in thought. “I don’t know.” 

Foggy nodded. “Right. Maybe we should go talk to your guy.” 

It took Matt a minute to understand. Then he turned to face Foggy, his head cocked. “Melvin? I haven’t worked with him in years. He’s working in costumes now.” 

Foggy frowned. Matt laughed. 

“I mean for theater, not vigilantees.”

“Yeah but he might still have some ideas, he’s the one that made it. And we could always offer to give it back, he might want it.”

Matt’s hand reflexively clenched into a fist. “I guess.”

“Or we could also not do that,” Foggy said, guessing that Matt might not want to let to go that way. It certainly wouldn’t appeal to his sense of drama. “Either way, we should probably ask. This won’t be as easy to get rid of as your first outfit.”

Matt shrugged. “Maybe it is. Maybe we just burn it.” 

Foggy ran his hand along the breastplate again. “Yeah, I don’t know.” 

There was a short pause in which Matt processed Foggy’s point. Neither of them were exactly sciency people, but still. Matt frowned. “Ok, let’s go talk to Melvin.” 

***

They decided to go see Melvin incognito, more for his sake then theirs. On the off chance that the police were onto Matt and were also already gathering evidence, they didn’t want anything to lead to Melvin. At this point though, incognito mostly involved hoodies and going in through the back. 

“I’m pretty excited to meet him,” Foggy whispered, keeping an eye out and his gait light. He never really did this part, all the creeping around and having secret meetings. 

“You don’t need to whisper,” Matt whispered back. “Also why?” 

“Well I have a certain affection for the guy that kept you mostly safe and whole. Hypothetically.” 

“You remember what I told-”

“Yeah of course.” 

“Ok good, we’re here.” 

Melvin, as it turns out, was actually doing really well. The room was both huge and full of costumes and pieces of future costumes, making the space seem smaller than its dimensions. The colors were fantastic, clashing and melding together in various pieces. Some of them hung from hooks near the ceiling, ready to be dropped down and worked on when the mood struck. Foggy spun on his heels, taking in the gems and rich drape and trying to overlay the image with Matt’s suit. 

“Melvin,” Matt greeted him mildly. “How are you?” 

Melvin turned around, apparently used to having people drop by unannounced, and gave them both a long once over. He also didn’t answer, which didn’t seem to bother Matt much. Foggy chalked it up to the ‘eccentric’ part of Matt’s description and moved on. 

“How is Betsy?”

“Who is Betsy?” Foggy asked, trying to lighten the mood. 

Melvin smiled. “My friend. She’s good, and the kids are good. They’re like my goddaughters.”

Matt smiled back. “Good.”

Melvin nodded. “So, what do you want?”

Foggy’s eyebrows shoot up. He was blunt, but Matt was clearly used to it. 

“We need to get rid of the suit you made me.”

Melvin made a face. 

Foggy jumped in. “Not that it isn’t great, because it is. It’s the best suit I’ve ever seen. Better than Thor’s!”

Melvin side eyed him then looked back to Matt. “Daredevil suit?”

“Yes,” Matt said and held up the duffle bag. Melvin didn’t reach for it. 

“Oh, right,” Melvin nodded, absently picking at his nails. “Been a while.”

“I know. It’s time to move on. It’s nothing against you Melvin, that suit was some of your best work, and I’m grateful.” 

Melvin laughed, his face breaking open into the kind of smile Foggy wasn’t used to seeing on anyone, completely unselfconscious. Melvin shook his head. “My best work? Nah, you should see what I’m doing now.”

Matt lowered the bag, smiling. 

They spent the next hour going through Melvin’s designs and prototypes for the various shows he worked on. They were amazing, unlike anything Foggy had ever seen. Women who look more like birds than they had the right to, men wearing coats made from what look like real stars. 

Matt ran his fingers carefully along the intricate beading on a dress. “Wow. This is amazing, Melvin.” 

“I know,” Melvin elbowed Matt in the ribs, a little too hard. “You should see what I’m making for the Met.”

“I love to. I’m glad things are going so well for you.”

“It’s partly because of you. I didn’t forget. What is it you need?”

“Well for one thing, have you heard anything about Daredevil lately? Anyone asking around about the old days?” 

Melvin shook his head. “But I like to keep my ear to the ground, you know? Safer that way.” 

“Thanks. Also, like I mentioned before, we need to get rid of my suit.” 

Foggy held up the duffle unnecessarily. “We brought it.”

Melvin eyed the bag and then shrugged. “So throw it out if you’re not using it anymore.”

“We’d rather not,” Matt said, his voice tight. 

“Yeah, see, if it gets found, that could be an issue for us. Better to make sure it stays gone for good, right?” 

“Oh, right, ok.” Melvin nodded a few times, clearly thinking. “Well, you can’t rip it up too well, not without a military grade saw or maybe a powerful laser cutter. Don’t have that stuff myself, not anymore.”

“What about fire?” 

“Nah,” he shook his head, bringing his hand up to rest his chin. “The smoke would probably kill you.” 

“Oh good,” Foggy said brightly. “See, I told you we needed to come talk to the expert.”

Melvin nodded. “Yeah, you’re going to need to be careful. There’s no easy way to do it, unless you got hydrofluoric acid.”

Foggy frowned, but Matt tilted his head to the side, an old familiar look crossing his face. “What if we could get some?” 

***

Foggy shouldered open the door, his hands busy holding up the big plastic bin he had sent Bobby to get ‘for carrying files.’ The decision to send Bobby instead of going himself had mostly been based on the need to keep acting normally, which had become a necessity after they got a super fun drop in from the sharp eyed cop who had some ‘follow up questions’. Not great. 

The only good thing was that shockingly, Bobby had come back with the right size and type of plastic. The kind that wouldn’t be dissolved by suit and flesh destroying acid. 

“Matt? I got it.” 

“In here,” Matt called back. 

Foggy turned the corner. Matt was perched at the kitchen counter with his laptop, a local high school’s website open to it’s biology page. Foggy put the bin down to lean over Matt’s shoulder. “Are we enrolling?” 

“Bobby, maybe.” 

“Ouch. He did get the right bin though.” 

Matt smiled and took a drink from his mug. “We’re definitely not bringing him. Especially because I think he’s starting to suspect.” 

“Great. It’s probably because of Officer Friendly.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are we even sure this is the right place?” Foggy asked, a little nervous now that he was confronted by the mascot of the school they were planning to rob. 

“Melvin said so.” Matt leaned over to trail his fingers over the edge of the bin. “Seems right.” 

“You have no idea if that’s true,” Foggy laughed, heading for the coffee pot. 

“That’s why I said ‘seems’ right,” Matt teased back, then got serious again. “You sure about this?” 

“No. But I’m doing it anyway. Which incidentally, pretty much describes every version of my relationship with you.” 

Matt grinned. It was the same look he got when explaining to Foggy that they’d both been so stupid and they should obviously be together. And the same as the one he got at their joint crime scene, later that night. 

Foggy crept up behind him in his black on black outfit, ready to pretend to be a lost jogger at any moment. Melvin was waiting a block away with his van. Matt was alert, alive. It was his sort of fun, a last hurrah that didn’t involve getting stabbed or shot at. 

It was interesting to watch the beginning and middle, having only ever seen the aftermath. It was also nice to be included in this, even for just the last time, Foggy mused. Matt had always kept him as far from it as possible. Breaking into a school wasn’t the same thing as taking on ninjas, obviously, but was close enough for being fifty. He sidled up to Matt as quietly as he could and kissed him when he turned his face. 

Matt smirked and shook his head. “No kissing at a crime scene.” 

Foggy shrugged. “Not a crime scene yet.” 

“Semantics.” 

Foggy scoffed. “I am a lawyer.” 

A flashlight beam bounced off the brick in front of them and they both drop, immediately getting with the program. 

“Just a beat cop,” Matt whispered, and Foggy nodded back. Sure enough, the man moved on, visibly bored. 

Foggy followed Matt as he pulled the bolt cutters from his backpack and snapped off the lock on the door. The noise seemed impossibly loud even to Foggy, but no one came running. From there it was a quick jaunt to the chemistry labs, a brilliant realization from Foggy that they should grab one of those AV carts that somehow still existed, and then the silent but tense process of loading jug after jug of acid onto said cart and wheeling it out of the school. 

They were, of course, interrupted by the same bored security guard deciding to have a smoke break a few feet away from their shadowed hiding spot, during which time Foggy kept such a tight grip on the cart he felt the metal start to cut into his hand and he also felt Matt shaking with silent amusement which was both insulting and massively reassuring. 

Foggy glared at him and resolved to make Matt take him out to dinner in addition to paying for the acid in the form of an anonymous donation to the school (plus the cart, which might well be a priceless relic by now). It wouldn’t really count because they shared all the same money, but it would make him feel better. They were already buying Melvin some fancy fabric Matt found on the internet, so they might as well. 

When the guard left, Matt texted Melvin, who smoothly glided over to them with the lights off. Then it was just a matter of loading up and driving away. 

Foggy stripped the mask off his face and heavy sighed. “Man. If I knew crime was that easy I wouldn't have ridden you so hard about it for a decade.” 

Matt’s laugh lit up the van. 

***

The pro/con list of disposing of the suit in the apartment where they were obviously least likely to be seen and doing it farther away where they were least likely to burn a hole in their floor was promptly shredded in the house paper shredder before they left. They had everything they needed, the bin, the acid, the gloves, the neutralizing agent, a rental car. The suit. 

Matt was quiet on the way out of Hell’s Kitchen as Foggy drove exactly the speed limit. The silence suited him just fine with how nervous he was about getting pulled over. There was no Brett anymore. Beyond that, being so close to getting away with it, with getting away with literal years of it, was terrifying. All they needed right now was a flat tire (although they have the spare that Foggy insisted on) or an overzealous rookie cop to literally ruin the rest of their lives. 

Somehow, the stakes just didn’t seem as high when Foggy was thirty something and dragging Matt’s stupid corpse all over Hell’s Kitchen. Sure he yelled at him about it, but it was always about Matt’s immediate safety, not their hypothetical future. Those points were just points in an argument, difficult to connect to their real lives. 

It felt real now, seeing blue and red lights in the mirror. For a long moment, Foggy didn’t do anything, irrationally wanting to protect Matt from it. He couldn’t see the colors. But he could hear sirens. Foggy sighed and pulled over to the side, feeling Matt tense up beside him. 

“So, uh-” 

Matt waved a hand, turning his head one way to the next. “No radio.” 

“Yet,” Foggy commented, watching with very little surprise as their new best friend gets out of the car. The cop from the station, and the office. “Great.” 

“O’brien.” 

“Of course.” 

The cop tapped on the window, and Foggy rolled it down, feeling like he was in a dream. It was obvious he had followed them. Foggy put on his best court face. “Officer-” 

“Trunk.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Pop the trunk.” 

“Probable cause,” Matt said, which was not technically a sentence but still got the point across. 

Foggy nodded anyway. “Yeah.” 

“Uh huh,” O’brien leaned over and peered into the back seat. Where the plastic bin was, too big to fit in their sensible rental car. “Well I don’t so much have that for the car as I do for you, Mr. Murdock.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Matt said, with perfect confidence. He leaned forward, his hand braced on the middle console, like he might jump up at any moment. “Officer-”

“Daredevil saved my life, once,” he said, mildly. “Interesting guy. Complicated.”

Matt might as well have been carved from a rock for all he reacted to that. 

Foggy cleared his throat. “Retired.”

The cop blinked, then he leaned back and laughed. Foggy and Matt sit in horrified silence as the cop wiped at his eyes, still smirking. “A piece of work. Seriously though, where are you going?”

Matt hesitated for only a second in his lie. “The abandoned shoe factory on-”

“I know it.” O’Brien nodded, still leaning down on the window but looking away, off at the water. “Right, wherever you’re really going, go to pier 11 instead.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” O’brien sneered, and then straightened up and walked away, back to the car. Foggy watched him with eyes so wide they hurt as he got in and drove away. 

“Radio?” Foggy asked, kind of surprised he could still talk. 

Matt shook his head. 

That sat in stunned silence for another long minute before deciding that there wasn’t much else to do but keep going. Foggy’s hands hurt the entire rest of the way, white knuckled on the steering wheel, and he didn’t hear Matt breathe once the rest of the way. 

***

Mercifully, they made it to the abandoned part of the docks without another interruption. It was certainly not pier 11, but the old building grounds, mostly sheltered from sight. Ocean shipping wasn’t exactly a bustling industry for Hell’s Kitchen anymore. They were more worried about being spotted by homeless people and drug dealers than anything else, but it seemed unlikely in the middle of the day. 

Still, they tied bandanas around their faces and Matt slid out of the car before it even came to a complete stop to investigate those very concerns, leaving Foggy to get ahold of himself. He gripped the steering wheel even harder to stop his hands from shaking, and was surprised when it actually works. It was a good thing too, because that was when Matt tapped on the window. Foggy only jumped a little. He took a deep breath and got out. 

“All clear?” he asked, even though it obviously was or Matt would have just gotten back in the car. 

Matt nodded, still silent. It was no less than Foggy expected so he busied himself with putting on the gloves and hauling the bin out of the back seat. The truck was, of course, full of acid because that was how Foggy’s life generally was. He dumped the ‘in case we get stopped’ binders that didn’t even work out of the bin and into the backseat while Matt started pulling out jugs of acid. 

They work efficiently, setting up the bin and acid before grinding to a halt when it came to actually dumping the suit in. Foggy eyed Matt, a little concerned that he might back out, even though he knew he wouldn’t. Not after that. But he didn’t move. It was up to Foggy. 

“We are gathered here today…” Foggy intoned, treating it like a funeral. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Matt complained, but Foggy could tell that it really did help. 

Matt dug around in the duffle bag and came up with the mask clenched in his hand. He ran his thumb along the rim, tracing the face. 

Foggy sighed. “RIP Daredevil. You were super hot.” 

Matt snickered and threw the mask in first. It made a satisfying sound when it made contact with the contents of the bin, but the catharsis was short lived. They pull on their masks, all the better not to get burned lungs, and waited. 

After a long moment of fizzling and sinking into the colorless solution which sort of smells like too much pool, Foggy started to get the sense that they were standing around looking at nothing. To be fair, nothing much was really happening anymore, as all the action had retreated under the liquid. He was trying not to fidget and wondering if maybe something more interesting was happening on Matt’s end of perception when Matt sighed. 

“Ok,” Matt said, resigned. 

Foggy lurched into grateful action, pleased to be on destruction duty while Matt listened for anyone straying too close. Piece after piece the suit was fed to the acid. It took a bit of time for the different components to dissolve enough to add another. Sometimes Matt wandered back over to stand next it, mouth set in hard lines. Foggy ignored him, letting him have his time while Foggy completed his task. 

No one came to disturb them. There were no sirens, no plucky young detective who saw between the lines and changed his mind to come arrest them. Foggy’s adrenaline started to bottom out even as Matt paced back and forth, looking like a big bat in his black outfit. 

The suit was eaten up, they neutralized the acid, and then they dumped it into an open drainage pit. It didn’t make a sound as it connected with the rest of the water, but Foggy watched carefully to make sure all the suit pieces were completely gone. 

By his side, Matt didn’t move. 

Foggy slipped his hand into his, and waited. The sun was going down, and it was getting a little cold. Foggy’s joints hurt from the lifting and all the tension. He was looking forward to their bed, to a night of much lighter drinking than they would have gotten up to ten years ago. But he could wait. 

After a while, Matt squeezed back. “Alright. Let's go home.” 

“Sure?” 

“Yeah.” Matt made a face. “This is done.” 

“Well except for the tell-all book.” Foggy teased, pulling his mask down and bringing his voice back up to a normal volume. 

Matt laughed and tugged him away from the graveyard, towards home.


End file.
